Episode 4x23 Bloodlines Episode Tag
by csijenniferlynn
Summary: Set immediately following the end of Bloodlines, after Grissom offers to take Sara home after she's been pulled over for driving under the influence, this lengthy one-shot assumes the GSR relationship moved past flirting and tension at this point. Please read and review!


Author's Note: Hello, hello. So, I watched episode 4x23, Bloodlines, again last night. I don't know what it is about that GSR moment at the end (Grissom picking Sara up at the police station after she's been pulled over for driving while intoxicated) that inspires me to write, but I just had to write a tag again. My very first fanfic, The Right Words, began immediately after that episode, and so does this fic. It's very different, and includes smut, which is a first for me. I hope it's enjoyable and believable (the whole tale, not just the smut!). Please review!

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Grissom walked into a Vegas police station, similar in so many ways to the one he frequented daily for work, and yet, so wholly unfamiliar. He had not come on a case, and certainly not for a social call. He came for Sara. She had apparently been pulled over for driving under the influence. She was not to be booked because the limit had just been lowered, and she would have passed the breathalyzer just two weeks ago. The officer who brought her to the station called Grissom. Sara had no family to call. Grissom's was the only name she offered when asked who could take her home, and so here he was. He wondered at her choice of rides home; she could have asked the officer to call one of the other guys; Greg would have forgiven her for her transgression in a heartbeat, Nick would have had it out with her, but then he would have taken her home without hesitation, and Warrick would have sympathized. So why him?

Deep down, he knew why him. It hadn't taken much of the car ride over to this station to figure it out. _He_ drove her to drink, and therefore _he_ needed to see her in her state of guilt and shame so that he'd also feel guilt and shame.

He did. He felt both. He knew promoting Nick was the right choice; he had meant it when he'd said Nick didn't care if he got the promotion or not, and that dedication to his job regardless of an increase in status and pay was admirable. Not that Sara's work wasn't admirable. It was. He never did want to be accused of favoritism toward her, though, and while he'd just as soon have promoted both of them, Nick had been with the team longer. He also knew that he and Sara had recently had some moments; he hadn't been able to resist pinning her down, at her request, of course, and he knew his behavior had been strange during the Debbie Marlin case, and Sara was clearly smart enough to figure out why- she had seen the body after all.

The officer led Grissom to the room where Sara was waiting, alone and miserable. Grissom was surprised that he felt no anger. His CSI, his Sara, was driving under the influence for Heaven's sake; she could have killed someone or worse, herself, and he never wanted his worst nightmare to come true.

Unsurprisingly, Grissom didn't know what to say to Sara. As he left the officer at the door and walked into the room, he sat next to Sara, his leg touching hers. He closed her hand in his own and said simply, "Come on, I'll take you home."

Sara didn't even look up at him. She seemed lost in a different world and perhaps dozed in Grissom's car with her right cheek against his passenger side window. Grissom allowed her her silence.

Twenty minutes after leaving the station, Grissom pulled slowly into the driveway of a townhome. Then and only then did Sara look up. Startled, she spoke for the first time since Grissom had come to pick her up. "Grissom, I don't live here. I'm sorry; I should have given you directions. I didn't think about it."

Grissom looked at Sara, the expression on his face unreadable. "I know, Sara. I live here."

Sara stared back at Grissom and blinked her eyes many times in rapid succession, as though trying to clear her vision. She continued to stare at him silently, but her eyes asked the question, "Why?" Grissom's heart seemed to skip a beat when he realized Sara looked frightened.

"Sara, honey, I… I just… I," Grissom stumbled over his words, trying to make his plan seem logical to Sara, when he knew that little would seem logical to her at the moment. "I'm going to have you sleep here tonight. You can have my bed. I'll take the couch. In the morning, we'll talk, and then I'll take you to your place, and yes, I will need directions." He smiled at the last words, trying to look like this was no big deal and hoping his admission of not knowing how to get to Sara's apartment would make her forget that he mentioned them talking; he knew she wasn't foolish enough to think that a casual "We'll talk" didn't mean idle chit chat about the weather.

Sara was never one to miss anything, even while slightly intoxicated.

"Grissom, I don't think you have a right to pry into my business. I'm not going to talk about anything." No matter how furious she was with Grissom for not taking her to her own home as he'd intimated at the station and how furious she was with herself for paying no attention to the drive here, she had secretly been longing to see Grissom's place since, well, the day she moved to Vegas, so she sighed dramatically and added, "I imagine you've taken me prisoner and won't take me to my apartment no matter how angry I am, so fine. I'll surrender to staying here, but I'll take the couch and you're taking me home the minute you wake up." She crossed her arms defiantly, just daring him to disagree.

She took the sleepover with more grace than he'd imagined she would, so Grissom exhaled slowly in relief. She really didn't need to be alone tonight. Her anger and her frustration with him was eating her, and she needed help. From him? Probably not, but who else knew of her worries?

"I'm glad… that you'll stay, that is. I don't know that I'm comfortable with you on the couch, though."

"Deal with it. It's happening."

Grissom held his hands up in surrender, then opened his car door. Sara did likewise, and after Grissom locked the vehicle, he again gripped Sara's hand in his own and walked her up the short walkway to his front door. He opened the door, flicked the light on, and showed Sara in.

As tired and tipsy as she was, Sara could not resist taking in the scene. Drab. It was evident that Grissom was a bachelor who did little at home other than cook, read, and work on both jigsaw and crossword puzzles. Sara did admire the entomological butterfly specimens he had mounted on one wall. She was not a fan of the cockroach specimens mounted on the opposite wall, however. Clearly, he didn't bring dates home. Sara was gladdened by the thought. She spied the large, plush brown leather couch and did not lament her choice of sleeping arrangements. She didn't think she could handle the torture of sleeping in Grissom's bed, which probably smelled like him, without his body actually being in it as well. The couch would do just fine.

After letting Sara take in what she could see of his home from the doorway, Grissom queried, "What do you think?" He surprised himself by being nervous about her response. He found he needed her approval.

"Roaches?" Sara's right eyebrow nearly disappeared into her hairline as she said that word and her lips quirked into a small, but discernible smile.

Grissom smiled a genuine smile. "I'll have you know, Miss Sara Sidle, that my collection of cockroaches dwarfs that of even the Cincinnati Zoo, which has quite an extensive insect house. It also contains…" Grissom's thought trailed off into nothingness as Sara laughed. He loved that laugh.

"Okay, okay, Bug Man. Never mind. The roaches are spectacular. I'm sure I'll enjoy staring at their many legs and creepy antennae as I fall asleep." Sara's smile was genuine and wide now, and Grissom reveled in delight that he had caused that smile.

"I did offer you the bed. The only creepy-crawly you'd have to stare at in there is my tarantula." He laughed at Sara's expression.

"Seriously? Having one of those at work isn't enough? You have one here, too? You need a dog, or at least a cat, or something normal. Who sits around when they wake up petting the tarantula while sipping their coffee? Does this lovely domestic partner of yours have a name? Fido? I'll have to meet him."

Grissom took no offense to Sara's teasing, and instead offered her his arm. "Shall we?" He smirked.

"Shall we what?" The eyebrow was disappearing again.

"Go meet Fido? His actual name is Fluffy, however."

His smile was worth a million bucks, and Sara was thrilled with this easy banter between them, and therefore, no matter how little she really cared for large spiders, she replied, "Fluffy? You've got to be kidding me. Lead the way."

And so it happened that Sara and Grissom were in his bedroom together. Quite alone. After glaring at Fluffy for a moment or two, Sara's gaze wandered from the terrarium to the rest of the room. The dark mahogany furniture was beautiful and the bed looked welcoming, which reminded Sara of just how tired she really was. She recognized black-out blinds on the window; sleeping during the day when the rest of the world was awake and enjoying the sunshine was difficult any day, but nearly impossible without black-out blinds. Sara's eyes widened in surprise when her gaze fell to a basket of dirty laundry, on top of which laid a pair of Grissom's boxers.

Ever the keen observer, Grissom had watched Sara as she visually scanned his room. He had noticed her weariness as she had moved her eyes over his bed, he had seen her curiosity as she tried to read the title of the book on his nightstand, and he saw… No. He had to be wrong. He found himself blushing. He stared more fervently at Sara. No, he wasn't wrong. He'd seen that face before. Lust. Longing.

Sara turned to face him. Grissom noticed his weren't the only cheeks sporting heightened color. She cleared her throat. "So, about that couch, Grissom… I'm really tired."

"Right." Grissom cleared his throat, too. He seemed to have a large lump in his throat. He seemed to want Sara to be in his bed, too, but that would not be proper. He'd told himself that for years, ever since the day he brought her to Vegas. His dreams sometimes brought his Sara to this very bed, however, and while those dreams made him feel guilty, they made him equally elated. "Um, I think I have a spare blanket in the linen closet." He stepped out into the hall, having missed Sara's slight expression of disappointment, and located a nice, plush blanket and a sheet to lay over the leather so she wouldn't have to stick to it all night. He stepped back into his room, where his Sara was still standing, and added in a slightly apologetic voice, "I don't have spare pillows, though. There are the standard pillows that came with the couch, but I don't think they're all that comfortable. You'll have to use this one," he said as he pulled one of his own pillows off his bed and handed it to her before she could decline it. "Do you need something to sleep in? I'm sure I have a t-shirt and sweats somewhere."

While Grissom really wanted to see Sara in his clothes, he was relieved when Sara declined his offer, saying, "Uh, no thanks. I'll be fine." Grissom wasn't sure he could handle the thought of Sara being on his couch with his pillow in his clothes all night in a gentlemanly manner.

Still struggling to swallow the lump in his throat, Grissom led Sara by the crook of her arm to his couch. He gently set the pillow against the armrest, tucked the sheet in around the cushions, and smoothed the blanket over the sheet. He admired his handiwork for a moment and then, after clearing his throat yet again, said in a huskier voice than he'd been anticipating, "The bathroom's right through that door. I don't have an extra toothbrush, but there's mouthwash in the medicine cabinet. Can I get you anything else before you settle in? Do you need anything to eat? Some water?"

Grissom's attention to detail while making her bed didn't escape Sara's notice, nor did the tone of his voice. Longing. That's what she heard in it. She sighed, knowing that though they clearly both wanted each other, he was going to forever continue to deny their mutual need. She plastered on a smile and said, "Thanks. Um, a glass of water would be nice. I'll just be a minute."

When Sara emerged from the bathroom, Grissom was nowhere to be seen. Disappointed, Sara noticed that a folding TV table had been set up near the head of her make-shift bed and a glass of water, along with a piece of paper, sat on it. Curious, Sara peered at the paper. On it was a short note in Grissom's handwriting: "Sleep well. If you need anything, don't hesitate to wake me. I trust you'll remember where my room is. –Grissom"

_If I need anything_ Sara thought to herself. Sure. Whatever. She lifted the blanket and crawled under it, laying her head upon the soft, familiarly scented pillow as she did so. Grissom. Good God, she was laying on Grissom's pillow. She was supposed to sleep while his alluring scent invaded her nostrils all night.

Sara threw the pillow to the floor and angrily laid her head on the leather armrest of the couch. Not nearly as comfortable, but it would have to do. An hour or so later, Sara awoke from her fitful sleep after dreaming she'd wrapped her car around a telephone pole instead of being pulled over earlier that evening. Her neck was stiff and sore. She sat up and tried to drink the water Grissom had left for her as she simultaneously tried to calm her pulse and her breathing. Nightmares wouldn't do. What if she cried out and Grissom heard her? She tried to lie down to sleep again, but her neck was in agony. She grabbed one of the couch pillows from the armchair near the couch and tried to get comfortable. It was a shame the pillow was leather and stuffed so full it felt rather like she was laying on a rock. She threw the pillow back to the armchair in frustration and got up to use the bathroom.

After washing her hands, Sara stepped quietly out of the bathroom. She tried to make no noise as she passed Grissom's bedroom door. She was so quiet that she really couldn't help hearing his soft sigh and the rustle of his sheets as he clearly rolled over in his sleep. Sara smiled a tender smile and suddenly desperately wanted to watch him sleep.

Convincing herself that she was ridiculous, Sara tiptoed back to the couch, where she picked Grissom's pillow off the floor and snuggled right into it on the couch. She reveled in the comfort of falling asleep enveloped in his scent. She slept peacefully for a while, but then her nightmare returned, changing for the worse; this time, Grissom had been in the car with her and when she wrapped her car around the telephone pole, Grissom… No, it couldn't be… Grissom… Grissom! Sara tossed fitfully in her sleep as she lived through the worst thing she could imagine.

At that point, Grissom woke from a nightmare in which Sara had wrapped her car around a telephone pole instead of being pulled over by the officer just hours ago. He had to see her to know she was safe. He opened his bedroom door as quietly as he could and stepped out. He heard her before he saw her. It sounded as though she was having a nightmare, too. Then, he heard his name.

"Grissom! No! Grissom, wake up! Grissom, don't leave me! Don't!" Sara was tossing about violently on the couch as her nightmare raged on.

Forgetting he was clad in only his boxers, Grissom rushed to the couch, kneeled down, and gently roused Sara. "Honey, wake up. It's just a dream. I'm right here. Sara… Sara… Wake up." One of his hands was holding one of hers and his other hand gently brushed hair out of her eyes as he spoke.

Grissom was dead. His lifeless body stared blankly at her, a large piece of windshield embedded in his forehead, blood everywhere. Then, he was talking, as though from far away. "Honey, wake up. It's just a dream. I'm right here. Sara… Sara… Wake up." Sara was finally released from her nightmare, and woke to the sound of Grissom's voice shushing her, quieting her fears and to the feel of his hands on her, gently calming her body. She gladly accepted the way he was making her feel so safe for a few moments before opening her eyes.

"Grissom."

"Sara."

"I'm sorry." Sara's eyes welled with tears and her voice was thick with emotion.

"For what?" Grissom spoke softly as he wiped away the tear that escaped and ran down Sara's cheek. "You have nothing to be sorry for."

"I woke you up." More tears fell.

"I don't mind. Shh, shh, you're okay, Sara." Grissom continued to stroke the palm of her hand. His other hand reached for a tissue from the box on the coffee table. He handed it to her, and then handed her the entire box as tears turned to sobs. Grissom helped Sara to a sitting position and sat next to her, his body sitting snugly against hers, all the while whispering soothing words to her. He wondered what could have upset her so. Surely waking him up wasn't such a big deal. He wrapped his arms around her and enveloped her in warmth and safety. Grissom found his own eyes welling with tears; the pain of seeing his Sara hurting was unbearable.

After her sobs had quieted to whimpers, Grissom queried, "What is it, honey? What did you dream about?"

Sara shook her head no against his chest. She didn't want to tell. Grissom didn't say another word, but continued to rub the hands that hugged her to his body up and down her arms in a soothing manner. Eventually, Sara whispered, "You were in my car tonight. I never got pulled over. I wrapped my car around a telephone pole and you, you…" Sara's crying began anew as the image of Grissom's dead face assaulted her mind's eye again.

Grissom was startled that they had had an extraordinarily similar nightmare, and it didn't take much deduction to figure out that he had died in Sara's dream. Greatly touched by the anguish his dreamt death was causing her, his eyes teared up again, and he renewed his efforts to calm her. "Shh, honey, I'm here. I'm alive, Sara, and I'm well. I'm here holding you. You're safe."

Sara felt something tickle her face as she burrowed into Grissom's chest. She opened her eyes and found herself face to face with Grissom's bare chest. Chest hair! That's what was tickling her! She glanced down and noted that her left arm was lying across Grissom's thighs, and that his thighs were clad only in boxer shorts. God, how she had dreamed about seeing him like this.

Grissom tensed when he noticed Sara's return to the present and her subsequent perusal of his scantily clad body. God, how he had dreamed of holding her to himself in such an intimate way.

He couldn't stand it anymore. Nothing about Sara made their platonic relationship desirable. He pressed a soft, warm kiss into the hair atop her head. Sara froze, wondering momentarily if this was just going to be another one of those moments where he led her on, then cast her away. When a second, longer kiss on her forehead followed, Sara closed her eyes and delighted in the feel of it. She knew this was it. This time was different. He'd never kissed her before. God, how she had wanted this for so long. She shifted her body to face him, and as she looked up to his eyes, she saw the love and lust she felt reflected back to her in his hungry eyes. Her breath hitched; she couldn't move. Grissom leant down and kissed Sara softly and tenderly on the lips. So startled was she that Sara couldn't return his kiss immediately, but as Grissom began to pull away and she realized she didn't want him to, Sara hungrily kissed him back. Grissom's eyebrows shot up at the intensity of her kiss, but was quite happy to match it. Their frenzied kiss, filled with the longing of years, led to hands wandering over each other's bodies, each desperate to touch what had always been so close, yet so forbidden. As the soft hand running over Grissom's bare chest ran across a nipple, Grissom shuddered.

Sara pulled back and looked at Grissom's face, the question, "Did I go too far?" written all over her features, though she didn't utter a word. Grissom gently shook his head no. "Sara, I…"

Suddenly concerned that Grissom had let himself get carried away and was now regretting it, Sara apologized. "Grissom, I'm sorry. I just…"

Grissom cut her off by pressing a finger to her lips. "No, Sara, don't apologize. I loved it. I want it. I want you." The lust in his deep voice was practically palpable, and Sara shivered under his intense gaze.

"Grissom?" If they did this, this thing they had both desperately wanted for years, but had avoided, and then tomorrow found them dancing around each other as they always did, trying to repress their feelings, Sara thought she'd explode. Grissom seemed to read her thoughts. Again, he quieted her, this time with a quick kiss.

"I want you forever, Sara. Not just tonight. Will you have me?"

In response, Sara pulled her shirt over her head and reached behind her to unclasp her bra. Grissom watched in awe as the straps fell from her shoulders and the bra fell to rest on the couch next to them. Sara loved him even more for the reverent way he stared at her naked flesh. When she couldn't stand the scrutiny any more, she leaned in and pressed her chest to his. The electric reaction of skin on skin momentarily froze both of them. Years of need, years of hunger, years of no had led to this beautiful moment of yes and neither wanted it to ever end. This would take time. This would change everything.

Again they kissed, passionately and fiercely. Grissom's kisses left Sara's inviting mouth and moved on to exploring her long, slender neck, her prominent collar bones, her chest above the swell of her breasts, the valley between them, and then the luscious flesh of her breasts. Sara shuddered in much the same way he had when his tongue and then his teeth grazed a perfect nipple. She was lying on her back on the couch at this point, and Grissom was kneeling between her legs, his hands on the leather under her armpits supporting his weight as he loomed above her, exploring the skin he'd longed to touch for longer than he could remember at the moment. Looking up for a moment, he spied his open bedroom door.

"Sara," he choked out. "My bed?"

Sara closed her eyes and smiled faintly. Her dreams were becoming reality. "Yes, Gil. Yes."

Grissom moaned softly as he registered Sara's use of his first name. She'd never called him that before, though he had longed for such intimacy. "Oh, Sara." He pulled her greedily from the couch and led her by the hand to his bedroom. He turned the overhead light on, but dimmed it to low. He nearly shoved her onto his bed, but managed to control himself just enough to be slightly more graceful and less aggressive than he was feeling. Sara sat up as soon as she hit the bed, and Grissom was momentarily afraid she'd changed her mind until she looked below his waist and asked, "May I?"

Grissom nodded and closed his eyes as Sara divested him of his boxers. He couldn't bear to watch her face as she stripped him for fear she'd not feel the same way about his body he felt about hers. He revered her. She was young. She was gorgeous. She was perfect. He was old. He was a little thick around the middle. He was imperfect. Sara didn't care. She gasped at the thrill of seeing him completely uncovered. Lovingly, tenderly, she reached out to take his most intimate piece into her hand. Grissom felt faint; he struggled to remain standing as the woman he loved finally touched him in the way he'd only experienced in his dreams. Sara continued to touch him, to stroke him, and as she did so, she intently watched his face. His eyes were closed, and his expression seemed to show agonizing bliss. Suddenly, she let her hand drop. She continued staring at his face, and delighted in the way his eyes flew open at the lack of touch, searching for her and silently asking why.

Sara curled a finger toward him, beckoning him to the bed with her. He shook his head no. Sara cocked her head and her expression asked, "Why not?" It was Grissom's turn to stare below her waist. He was desperate to see what beauty there was to behold under the clothing. One look at Sara's face and the fact that she laid herself down on his bed told him he had permission to do as he wished, and he slowly, tediously even, stripped off her pants. Just the sight of her in nothing but her black panties was enough to drive Grissom nearly to the edge, and he stood, staring, simply admiring the beautiful curve of her hips, the length and leanness of her legs, and the slight rise between her thighs as she lay there on his bed. After his loving scrutiny seemed to extend into forever, he suddenly nearly ripped Sara's panties from her body. Sara's pulse quickened as she thrilled at his hungry passion and need. She felt no shame lying completely naked in front of him, as she had so many times when she'd had loveless sex with men she tried to fill the void in her heart with that her unrequited love caused. Grissom again stared in awe for several minutes. Sara beckoned with her finger again. This time, Grissom complied, huskily whispering as he pulled her body to his own, "You're perfect." Sara sighed contentedly into Grissom's neck as they held each other for several long moments before their hunger needed to be fed and they were again exploring with hands and mouths, eliciting soft groans from each other.

When Grissom's fingers found the space between Sara's thighs, she froze. He slowly, reverently placed two fingers inside her and began to move them rhythmically. Sara thought her heart would burst as she experienced the ecstasy she'd only dreamed of for what felt like forever. To be touched like this by the man she loved was almost too much to bear. That is, until something harder and longer than his fingers found its way inside her. Their darkened eyes spoke volumes as they lost themselves in each other's eyes and the amazing feeling created by the joining of their bodies. Grissom was slow and careful. He was tender and loving. Sara gripped him to her more tightly with each thrust, urging him to move faster. He complied and greedily took her as his own. Their mouths met in a heated kiss as they simultaneously gasped their sweet releases.

They had both had sex, but had never made love, and what a difference it made.

They lay contentedly in each other's arms, tangled together for the rest of the night that had started out as a seemingly endless night of torture and was now not nearly long enough. Gentle kisses turned to hungry desire again and again through the night and wandering hands found their way to just the right places again and again. By the time the alarm clock that Grissom had set for himself blared, they knew each other intimately. Every freckle, every imperfection, every inch of skin was known and explored. Every sensitive spot had been discovered and delighted in. As Grissom moved to silence the offending alarm, he nipped Sara's ear, sending yet another shiver of delight down her spine and causing her to smile at him. Grissom turned on his bedside lamp and admired Sara's nude, pale body in the brighter light, unabashedly staring at every inch of her divine body. Instead of paling under his scrutiny, as Sara would have done if any other man had been looking at her like that, she boldly stared at his face and watched his endearing facial expressions during the course of his examination, and then she, in turn, swept her eyes slowly over Grissom's form as he watched her face. As if on cue, they both stared into each other's eyes and each whispered, "I love you."

They smiled. They laughed. They fell back into each other's arms and wished the moment would never end.

Alas, not every wish comes true. Grissom's phone rang. Ecklie was calling to inform him that grave was being assigned a case that was going to require at least a few of them to come in early. Grissom spoke to Ecklie in his typical curt manner and was quickly off the phone. "Guess I better call the team; see who can come in early tonight."

Sara watched as he pressed speed dial #1 and grinned when it was her phone that sounded from the family room.

Grissom offered her a smile as he said, "You've always been my number one, Sara."


End file.
